


Gregstophe Week Entries.

by RedsAdmin



Category: South Park
Genre: Adults, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate universe - Mafia, Blood, Children, Dirty 30s, Fallout AU, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Prohibition Era, Violence, gregstophe, gregstophe week, sex mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedsAdmin/pseuds/RedsAdmin
Summary: GREGSTOPHE WEEKJUNE 3-10Information about Gregstophe week inside.Also this is where I will be posting my own entries to Gregstophe week as well.





	1. Chapter 1

Hey there! Its ya boi Red, coming at you hot and fresh out the kitchen. With the collaboration of the fandom, I wanted to help rustle up some interest in a Gregstophe week. At the suggestion of @a-mole-and-his-canary / [Taupe_De_Cigarette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupe_De_Cigarette/pseuds/Taupe_De_Cigarette) its been decided that Gregstophe week will be hosted on June 3-10.

I’ve never actually hosting a Shipping week, so I’m open for any suggestions on improvements.

If you’re not already aware, Gregstophe is Gregory x Christophe from the South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut movie. While not really appearing in the TV series, aside from a brief glimpse of Christophe, they tend to go under the radar of the more popular ships.

Anyways, I will be reblogging any Gregstophe media from the shipping week onto my RP tumblr or my main Fanfiction tumblr. All you gotta’ do is make sure you tag it either with #gregstophe or #gregstophe week. There will be three different themes to choose from each day, you can pick one, two, or all three if you want. Also if its rated mature, make sure to tag it so. I guess I also have to mention no sexual themes while they’re children, yeah?

All media is good media. Drawings, writings, videos, etc. Not to mention sharing and spreading the word will help greatly! If you have any suggestions, hmu. Like I said, this is the first time I hosted a shipping week, so I might make mistakes.

[My Tumblr page](https://christophe-delorne.tumblr.com/).

 

June 3rd ( DAY 1 )  
LOVE // PARK // SOULMATE AU ( ie; red string, tattoos, etc. )

 

June 4th ( DAY 2 )  
FEAR // NIGHT TIME // MONSTER AU

 

June 5th ( DAY 3)  
HAPPINESS // SCHOOL // DIFFERENT ERA AU

 

Jun 6th ( DAY 4 )  
ANGER // SHOVEL & SWORD // APOCALYPSE AU

 

June 7th ( DAY 5 )  
TIRED // BED // FAKE DATING AU

 

June 8th ( DAY 6 )  
RELIEF // HOME // ANGELS & DEMONS AU

 

June 8th ( DAY 7 )  
SADNESS // RAINSTORM // PROFESSION CHANGE AU ( They have jobs they typically wouldn’t seen as having. )

 

June 10 ( DAY 8 )  
FREE DAY. DO WHAT YOU WANT.


	2. DAY 1: LOVE // PARK // SOULMATE AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **LOVE** // **PARK** // SOULMATE AU
> 
>  
> 
> TITLE: Man's Best Friend
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS: Swearing, mild violence.
> 
>  
> 
> AGE: Children
> 
>  
> 
> NOTES: This is sort of a prequel to my 'Good Dog' story I'm writing, but you don't need to have read 'Good Dog' to understand this. Just know Gregory is a dark character, the relationship between Gregory and Christophe is a bad one.

Christophe had never been one for games, but Gregory always insisted upon it. Gregory always enjoyed rallying up the rest of the school kids and playing some sort of battle between them, inviting new and creative ways to play. It was concerning to some of the teachers, but they never confronted Gregory's parents, to afraid to lose such a wealthy donor to their school. Christophe was used to it by now, even if they were only seven years old, the little Frenchman was well aware of the world around him and the true natures of people. Gregory was already a professional at hiding his own true nature from the world, except when it came to Christophe. 

To the other kids, it was all fun and games, so as long as they were around he didn't have to worry too much. This time though, Gregory had a new idea. Christophe would be held hostage by the enemy, which was annoying, considering Christophe would rather die than play some helpless victim. Not that the other kids could properly contain him, they very well knew it too. Christophe wasn't exactly the nicest kid around, taking fights too far, even sending kids to the hospital a couple of times before the teachers could pull him off the victim. So pretending that he was helpless grating on his nerves. 

Today was Gregory's birthday party though, doubling down on the fact Christophe really had no choice in the matter. So he had to sit there in the sand with his hands 'secured' in plastic cuffs. It was stifling hot in the park too, the playground equipment getting to the point that it was uncomfortable to touch really. The kids didn't care though, too wrapped up in their imaginary battles, storming the so called 'castle' where Christophe was locked away. Of course, it had to start with some long drawn out speech from Gregory, followed by negotiations and then eventually a fight. 

Christophe looked up at his 'guard', one of the older kids who'd been held back a grade, slightly bigger than most which was why he was picked for the guard choice. Christophe was scrawny to begin with, though not as soft as the other kids his age. Already he was training, his destination in life had already been picked out for him from birth. He came from a long line of French mercenaries, nothing that was exactly to be proud of either, deplorable people from what his mother said whenever she thought Christophe wasn't listening in. Eventually, when he met up with Gregory, he started to embrace it.

"Could you get ze fuck away from me, you smell like a fat fuckin' pig." Christophe bit in annoyance, his accent thick on his voice. Most of the kids had tried to make fun of him for it, until they realized Christophe's temper was not something to be messed with. Now though, Gregory had told him to behave, to not fight back. That didn't mean he couldn't insult someone. He couldn't help himself, he was bored and wanted to goad the other boy into doing something, anything. 

"What'd you call me?" The other kid seemed surprised, it wasn't often in these posh schoolkids heard such language. It was always surprising to hear it, no matter how much Christophe swore and cursed and spat on their polished shoes. Though, just because these kids were from rich families did not mean their manners while around adults remained while it was just kids. Some were tolerable enough, others tended to have verbal fights about who's parents were better than the others. Mostly it was non-physical except when it came to Christophe. Then again, his family wasn't exactly rich. The only reason he was here was because Gregory insisted upon it.

"Clean out your fuckin' ears. Or maybe you're just zhat fuckin' stupid." Christophe bared his teeth, like some sort of wild animal that Gregory had taken in as some sort of project he could fix. However, Gregory was doing the exact opposite of what people assumed.

Instead of some sort of dumb ass remark from the boy, Christophe's head was jerked to the side from the blow of a punch. He hadn't expected the other kid to hit him, dazing him but only briefly. He felt pain flare over his dirtied cheek, making his lower jaw ache. The kid had power, Christophe had to give him that. He took a moment to work his jaw, testing to make sure nothing was wrong before speaking up again with a hint of humor in his voice.

"Is zhat 'ow they hit around 'ere? Like your fuckin' grandma taught you?" Another hit to the face. He deserved that, he always had a bit of a lip to him but he didn't regret it either. He used everything he had in his arsenal to hurt his target, if he couldn't use his fists, it would have to be with his words. 

"Not so tough when your tied up are you?" Ah, so that's where the courage to hit him came from, the other boy thought he was safe because of the flimsy plastic handcuffs. Was he really that dense? 

"Now that is where I will have to disagree, good sir." Gregory's voice cut in, his voice having a sophisticated forced tone as he seemed to still be in play mode. "I told him to play nice and like a good dog, he obeyed." The other boy turned around to face Gregory, but that had been the wrong decision, it aimed his face right into one of Gregory's fists. Christophe was well aware of Gregory's fighting capabilities, usually ending up being his sparing partner during training. With Gregory's quick mind, he was able to determine the right angle and force to apply to his hit to send the other boy into the sand.

"And thusly, the hero saves the damsel in distress by defeating the dragon." Gregory dusted off his hands as if he managed to do some great feat. Certainly he impressed the other kids who were cheering over their victory, but quickly diverted when they heard one of the adults call them, drawing them in with drinks and snacks. Gregory moved over to crouch before Christophe, already that olive skin had a faintly darker tint to it, not yet a bruise but it would soon be. Gregory lifted his hand up, lightly touching Christophe's abused cheek, easily seen as something of pity or affection.

Christophe yanked at his own arms, breaking the plastic and reaching up to shackle one hand around Gregory's wrist. "I'm not fuckin' doing zhat again, 'ear me?!"

Gregory mocked a pout. "Oh come now, Chris. You didn't feel your heart flutter when I saved you from danger? Was it not love at first sight?" Gregory's brows knitted together as if genuinely offended that Christophe did not immediately swoon over him. Christophe was not like the girls in their class, who believed in that charming smile and those lying eyes. Gregory had been born to hold a facade of the ideal person. Elegant, sophisticated, brave and caring. It was easier to get his way when everyone thought he was the good guy. Christophe was well aware of all of these things and yet he couldn't help that small stirring within him. Something that Gregory all too easily preyed upon.

Christophe was used to it from his mother, who pretended to be the exemplary mother you'd seen in some sort of sitcom. Caring, loving, with a sweet voice like honey. She didn't use it maliciously, only to keep her sanity just enough to raise a child she didn't want, a child from a man who'd left her and ruined her life. At nights, when she though Christophe was asleep, he could hear her talk, muttering under her breath, needing to vent out her frustration that had built up over the day, it would only be a matter of time until that frustration broke her. Christophe was just waiting for that day.

"Fuck off." Christophe stated, his glare adverted to the ground, not wanting Gregory to see anything in them. In situations like this, when no one was around, was the most dangerous between them. Christophe needed to keep his guard up, losing this kind of game would be devastating on his mind, soul, and heart. As much as he claimed not to have one, he did and Gregory all too easily found it and every so often, he'd give it a squeeze just to see Christophe squirm.

"Aw, you get quite adorable when you get all stubborn like this." Gregory reached up, prodding Christophe's injured cheek, delivering a spark of pain. Always with the bullying from Gregory and there was nothing he could do about it. That he did want to do about it. He was more aggressive, more unpredictable and violent, as long as he didn't give Gregory time to think, he could certainly over power him. But he didn't. He couldn't. 

It wasn't because Gregory was all soft and needed Christophe to protect him, but it was because Gregory let Christophe see a side of him no one else had, no matter how dark it was, it made Christophe feel special. They were what would be considered as best friends. Then again, a man's best friend was his dog. A dog would always forgive, would always be loyal if shown just the slightest amount of what could be perceived as affection. Gregory had given him a purpose in life, a life he cursed and cursed God for giving him. Gregory didn't need Christophe, but yet he kept the little French boy close. He would explain his goals, talk to Christophe in a manner he would with no one else. They were both very aware of their true selves.

A childish love some would call it. Naive little children who played house together and their parents would coo and take pictures of how sweet they were. That wasn't something they played, it was always dealing in something violent, sparing with weapons or with just their hands. Studying and plotting out make believe wars. Every year though, these little games were starting to get more and more intense and Christophe was beginning to realize how much Gregory liked it. It was a dangerous notion to think that Gregory would be anything others would wish from him. To become some political leader, guiding the country into prosperity when in reality Gregory would to lead it through hell first.

Christophe released Gregory's hand and pushed it aside. "I am not one of your little bitches, Gregory." He pushed himself up onto his feet, sand falling off his baggy brown pants and green shirt. Christophe had never been one to wear the school uniform, plenty have tried to force him to do so. Eventually the school gave up after Gregory's insistence they just leave Christophe be. Gregory was quick to stand up and take a step back just to avoid the downfall of sand, not particularly wanting to get dirty. 

"No, of course not. You're much more special to me than any of them could ever be, my dear." The last two words were toned sickeningly sweet, something that made Christophe's lip curl in distaste. "But, for now we should go join the rest of the group. It is my own birthday party, so I should at least make an appearance to blow out the candles." Gregory held out a gloved hand, offering for Christophe to take it. The French boy was tempted to ignore it, holding hands with Gregory was a very bad decision. However, not doing so would incite his wrath later on and Christophe was already tired enough from today's antics.

With a heavy exhale, Christophe took Gregory's hand, letting the Brit tug him along after him. Green eyes watched blond curls, so elegantly styled even after all the playing they'd done. With the knowledge that he couldn't pull his gaze away from Gregory, he knew he was doomed. Gregory would certainly be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to kick things off early. its currently 1:30 am on the first Gregstophe day. I've been sleeping during the day, so my entries will come in the dark hours when its not so fucking hot.
> 
> Nothing worse than typing while sweating.


	3. DAY 2: FEAR // NIGHT TIME // MONSTER AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **FEAR** // **NIGHT TIME** // **MONSTER AU**
> 
>  
> 
> TITLE: Weekend Retreat
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS: Blood, graphic violence.
> 
>  
> 
> AGE: Adults
> 
> [MUSIC](https://youtu.be/6-esfckE_sQ)

"I didn't realize it was going to be a long drive."

A female voice cut over the classical music gently playing through the speakers.Gregory had zoned out a little as he drove, the winding roads and lack of street lamps was a bit relaxing. No traffic, no tall skyscrapers, just trees and the moon above casting a peaceful light over the forest. Gregory only briefly looked over at his passenger, the girl he'd been dating for the past couple of weeks. A fashion model by the name of Porche, she had a lovely figure and a pleasant personality. Though a bit impatient from the sounds of it, not that he minded, everyone had their flaws and they had been driving for almost two hours now. 

"The further away from everyone else, darling" He soothed, his eyes returning to the road, with it being dark and in a forest, there was a potential that a deer or other small forest critter might run out into the road and he would rather not ruin his car. "It will be just the two of us, no one else to distract us so I can give you my complete attention. You've been working hard lately, so I think you deserve a little relaxation, yes?" He turned it back onto her, with any sort of partnership, a good way to win someone over was to appeal to them, to show care and concern. Gregory had played through this sort of thing plenty enough times to get it down to pat. Usually the girls tended to swoon for that kind of stuff.

"Well, it has been a bit hectic lately and we haven't got to spend much time together. A little weekend retreat at your lake house sounds like a dream." Porsche smiled a little in the faint darkness of the car, she reached over, placing a hand on Gregory's thigh. It appeared she just wanted to have a small physical connection at the moment. Which was fine with him, anything more would be far too dangerous on these long, winding roads.

Eventually, he had to ease to a stop in front of a gate, well taken care of by the grounds keeper no doubt. It wasn't so often that he had a chance to visit his lake house with his work, but he didn't want it to deteriorate either in his absence. He had already called ahead to make sure the groundskeeper had tidied up everything, making sure the fridge was well stocked and everything was in working order. Then he gave the man a few days off so not to interrupted the peaceful seclusion of Gregory and his girlfriend. Reaching up, Gregory pressed a button on the console screen of the car, with a few taps, he got the gate to ease open and allow them access.

Porsche seemed to grow more excited, more in awe. While she was a pretty famous model, she didn't yet have the income Gregory had. He was the first rich person she'd dated as well, making it easy to impress her. He slowly began to drive down the gravel drive, it was winding as well, scenic with tall pines and landscaping. Everything appeared ethereal with the pale moonlight, while one couldn't appreciate the finer details in the darkness, there was a certain magical look to seeing it all at night, with small solar lights framing the drive. He could just see the glimmer waters of the lake just ahead, reflecting the moonlight so each little wave lapping on the shore almost made it appear like cool silver. Picture perfect, just as Gregory liked it.

He pulled the car to a stop and shifted into park, he finally turned to give Porsche a charming smile. "We're here." He pulled the keys out of the ignition and handed them to the woman. "Here, why don't you go on ahead, I'll get the bags in the meantime."

"Sounds like a plan, don't be worried if I end up exploring the inside a bit, I need to stretch my legs after that car ride." Porsche leaned over, stealing a quick kiss from Gregory's lips before exiting the car. Gregory followed suit, though leaving Porsche to head up to the house while he went around to the back of the car. The house was dark, despite instructions to leave the porch light on, the groundskeeper must have forgotten that part on the list. Well, he'd make note of correcting that in the future, for now, he had a mini vacation to attend to. He opened up the trunk, beginning to pull out the suitcases. Despite only staying for three nights, they had packed a good deal, but Gregory always liked to be prepared for anything.

"Gregory!" Porsche called out from the porch, her phone turned on to shine a light so she could see. "The lights aren't working."

Gregory sighed and shut the trunk, carrying the suitcases up to the porch so he could set them down. "Must be the generator, I thought I had it replaced just recently. Just stay right here and I'll go check on it. Let me know if the lights come back on." He leaned in, pressing a small kiss on each cheek. "It'll only take a moment, so go inside and wait for me."

"Hurry back." She replied, looking a little put out by this inconvenient start to their trip. Brown eyes watched as Gregory jaunted down the steps, using his own phone to light his way down the path towards a small building nearby, she supposed that's where the generator was. Looking around, Porsche examined the surroundings, it all looked pretty but something was bothering her. She was used to city lights, where it was barely dark anywhere, at least in the safer districts. There were no road lights here, the small garden lights barely lit up anything, leaving shadows to conceal most of the place. It was eerily creepy when she was all alone, it was probably best to get inside. 

Moving indoors, Porsche held up her phone so she could see the interior a bit better. What would have been a quaint cabin straight out of a home magazine, looked a little creepy in the stark light of her phone. Maybe it would be better if she found a actual flashlight, plus she didn't want to run the battery out on her phone before the electricity came back on. If the generator was actually broken, she'd like to have some sort of connection to the outside world in case of an emergency. The first spot was the kitchen, seemed like a reasonable place to keep the supplies for things like this. As she reached for the first drawer, she heard something scuffing somewhere in the living room.

She paused, listening closely to make sure she actually heard something and not just her imagination playing tricks on her. There it was again, a faint scuffing along the wooden floor. Frightened, she turned around, shining her phone light in the direction, but it wasn't strong enough to reach more than a couple of feet in front of her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, though she tried to calm herself by reasoning away the sound. It was likely just a mouse or something, they were out in the wilderness, so there was bound to be all sorts of wildlife around. Curiosity made her want to investigate, but fear reasoned that it was probably best she stay in the kitchen. It might be something like a raccoon or something, who knew if it had rabies or not.

However, she wasn't too keen on turning her back to it either, if it was some sort of rabid animal, it was probably best she kept an eye in that general direction until Gregory came back to do all the investigating. She kept her phone up, shining it into the darkness as if it would keep whatever was in the living room at bay. Then, there was another shuffling noise off to the right, near the staircase. Immediately she jerked her light in that direction as if it would help any. She didn't think she'd really see anything but that time she was wrong. The light reflected off something. She was too afraid to really acknowledge that they might be eyes staring back at her in the darkness. Near glowing as they took in the light, but any other feature about what those eyes belonged to was indeterminate. Neither moved, making Porche think for a moment that maybe they weren't eyes. Until they blinked.

She couldn't hold back her fear anymore as she let out a scream before that rational part of her mind could quell it. Every instinct within her demanded that she run, that she get away from what could be possible danger. Running may have been the wrong move though, turning her back to a perceived danger. Porsche didn't care though, all she knew was that she needed to get away as fast as possible from whatever was in the house. She turned to run, but not knowing the layout of the house, she ran straight into one of the dining chairs. Her legs getting caught up with the chairs as both she and it tumbled to the floor.

She couldn't hear the noise of something moving, her heart thumping loudly in her ears as she landed hard on the wood floor. Pain spiked up from her shoulder as she landed on it wrong. That was nothing compared to the pain that followed after. 

Something snapped around one of her ankles, so hard and painful that she felt like bones had been fractured if not broken. Instinctively, she tried to jerk her leg away from the pain, scrambling against the chair and the floor to escape whatever was hurting her. Her phone skittered over the smooth floor, the light shining like a distant beacon of lost hope. She continued to scream, hoping Gregory would come and save her as she felt the force holding her leg begin to drag her deeper into the house, further away from the open door, away from her only known escape.

Weight pressed down on her, heavy, fetid hot breath rolled out over her, choking her with the smell. There was no break, she could feel that bite shift and when she tried to run, claws tore into her, merciless like fish hooks. Teeth pieces like a knife through hot butter, tore and sliced with no real order. It was chaos and no matter how much she sobbed, cried, and screamed, Gregory did not come. Not until it was too late.

Lights finally buzzed to life as Gregory stepped through the doors, as if he hadn't heard a thing or was worried in the slightest at the fact Porsche didn't greet him at the threshold. Curious to where his house guest had gone, he wandered deeper into the lake house, turning on lights as he went. One step he took made him almost lose balance from the slick substance on the floor. Looking down, he took not of the bright red smear across the once pristine wood floor, making Gregory swear softly under his breath. Following the trail, he ended up at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement where he usually kept his wine. He could hear faint noises coming from down there.

Confidently, he walked down the stairs after flicking on the basement lights, taking care not to slip on the blood. When he rounded the corner, he scowled at the sight. Dirty brown fur seemed to be nearly covered in blood and the mess on the floor was barely identifiable at this point. It was jarring to see such a thing taking place in his house. 

"Christophe, what did I say about killing inside the house? You're making an absolute mess of my wine cellar." Gregory chided, having no fear of the large beast before him. The wolfish head snapped around to face him, lips curling to bare ivory teeth, saliva mixed it blood oozing from that dangerous maw. But Gregory only felt disgust from the deplorable sight. "If you don't mind the rules, then I'll stop bringing you gifts every full moon. You wouldn't want that now, would you?"

A snarl was all the response he received before the werewolf went back to tearing into the 'gift' Gregory had brought him. However, Gregory wasn't one to tolerate much disobedience from his dog and groundskeeper. He reached out, grabbing and yanking the wolven beast by the ear, causing the larger beast to yelp. "You're cleaning this up once you're done. And I expect you in bed before dawn. Understood?"

Despite the nod and the wine, there was aggressive resentment in those monstrous green eyes when they glared back at him. Having a monster boyfriend really was difficult to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christophe hates dogs and basically turns into one every full moon. God really does hate him. (・ωｰ)～☆


	4. DAY 3: HAPPINESS // SCHOOL // DIFFERENT ERA AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **HAPPINESS** // SCHOOL // **DIFFERENT ERA AU**
> 
> TITLE: Birthday Present
> 
> WARNINGS: Blood, death.
> 
> AGE: Adults
> 
> NOTES: The setting is based in the dirty 30s and heavily influenced by the anime Baccano! and 91Days. Pretty good shows if you're looking for Prohibition/Mafia type anime.

Christophe stared out the window of the cab, watching as the mansion came into view in all its grandeur. He dreaded coming back here because beneath the facade of perfectly groomed hedges and the blanket of neatly placed flowers that brought out the warm bricks, it house the most dangerous creatures in all of New York. And it was fitting that it was the very same placed he lived in, not exactly calling it home but better than nothing. He pulled a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his pinstripe vest, using it to clean his dirty, blood smeared hands. The residents that remained here didn't particularly like him to begin with, except one, but the person that mattered was the head of the family. 

The Head of the Gambino Family was a very powerful man, the same man he owed his life to, technically speaking. Christophe didn't see it that way, not that he would voice his opinions out loud. In truth, he owed his life to the Head's nephew, Gregory. While Gregory wasn't related to the Head by blood, the whole convoluted thing of the Head's brother marrying a woman who already had a kid and thus inducted into the family. There wasn't anything unusual about that, this kind of Family was bonded through loyalty and devotion. Mindless devotion. 

Christophe didn't think too highly of families in general, having left his own abusive mother in France, becoming a stowaway to new lands and as far away from that woman as he could get. Her, he wanted to start a new life, nothing grand as he already knew his position in life. A street urchin, a thief prone to violence, fighting over scraps just to survive. It was when he tried to pickpocket Gregory, that their paths crossed. He'd thought he'd been sly, going unnoticed as he brushed passed the other blond boy. Little did he know that he'd brushed closed to death as Gregory caught his seeking hand, holding it up high in the air, leaving Christophe exposed as a thief.

Throughout the years, he'd grown up with Gregory, who had made it his personal goal to mold Christophe into what he was now. Gregory taught him how to fight properly, how to shoot a gun or stab a person just right. He knew all the vital points in which to kill a man or torture. Gregory had taken him out on his first job, beating a man who'd been harassing local women on their turf, all the while Gregory laughing as if it was a god damn show. At the age of fourteen, Gregory had taken him to kill his first man, a rat who'd been selling them out to the cops. Gregory had taught him how to survive, but also, there was smaller moments. Rare and far between.

Sitting near the pond, drinking moonshine together, laughing and telling stories. Gregory teaching Christophe how to drive his new automobile and nearly running several people over in the process, but it had been fun. Helping out in the garden, it felt good to dig into the dirt, not to bury a body, but to create life, something that had never before crossed Christophe's mind. During the summer, they'd go for swims at the beach, Christophe nearly drowning when he'd been too stubborn to admit the fact he didn't know how to swim. Luckily Gregory did and had embarrassingly rescued him from the crashing waves. Gregory had given him everything and in return, Christophe would give his life in turn for the man. As cheesy and romantic as that sounded, it would be the literal truth considering their line of work.

He could've been killed, the Head had wanted to, but Gregory convinced the man otherwise, indicating a street rat like him would be useful, just the person they were looking for. Now here he was, in his late twenties and known in the city as a few names. The enforcer, the cleaner, the butcher. All fitting. If someone did wrong by the Gambino family, he was sent out to fix that. Today he'd gone out to put one of the moonshiners back into place. Apparently, with the prohibition at its peak, he wanted more cash for risking his neck. Christophe had shown him that the police would be a godsend in comparison to the mafia. He hadn't killed the man, no, they were running low on people whole could make decent hooch that wasn't already in the big house doing time.

When the cab pulled to a stop, Christophe got out without paying, the cab business was also a part of the Gambino family, so rides for members were free of charge. Christophe flicked the remains of his cigarette onto the gravel, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. He could hear a band playing out back in the garden, must be celebrating Gregory's birthday without him, not that it was any surprise. Christophe was rarely invited and only when the show of force was needed. Now he just needed to face the big man and let him know the job was done, after a few broken bones he'd managed to convince their booze supplier to be satisfied with his current pay.

Climbing up the regal white steps, he was greeted by a man leaning against one of the grand white pillars, the usual guard. "'ey, back already, Chris?" The dark haired male greeted casually, not bothering to move from his spot, looking tired as usual. He wore a nice black suit, he'd dressed up for the party more than likely even if he couldn't attend. Damien was an enigma, always seeming to be on guard duty and it was only occasionally that Christophe saw him doing anything else, like eating or even sleeping. It wasn't even like Damien was guarding, but more along the lines of watching, as if all of this was some big show put on just for him.

"Yes." Christophe grunted in reply, not really wanting to make small talk with Damien, the man gave him bad vibes, like a predator sensing another predator. As long as they stayed out of each other's way, everything would be fine. However, Damien seemed all too keen on instigating that tension, they'd both been brought into the family as orphans. While Christophe had been a street rat, Damien's origin was unknown.

"Don't be all wet, Chris. Can't you hear rag going on in the back, even a half-portion like you is invited." Damien raised his own cigarette to his lips, taking a pull as those unnerving dark red eyes watched Christophe. Despite his Yankee slang, the man was all serious, as if putting up a front to hide his true nature. Christophe was used to seeing through such things, that's all what this family was about, hiding their real self from others. 

"Not interested." Christophe shut him down and reached for the handle to the door, but before he could open it, Damien placed a hand over his, making Christophe glare sharply at him for the offense. Christophe didn't like to be touched by anyone, not even Gregory at times. Everyone knew this, especially Damien. They'd often got into scuffs, needling at each other. Christophe didn't know whether or not Damien actually wanted to kill him or not, that alone was enough to put him on edge around the other male.

"Don't go makin' tracks just yet, not 'til you listen to what I gotta' say." Damien sounded serious, that playful tone from earlier vanishing as if it had never existed. "I caught sound of someone filliin' up someone else with daylight, the folks wingdig couldn't hear it from all the racket. Someone's been gummin' up the works lately, so the bossman ain't too happy. So watch your back, pond hopper."

Christophe tensed, he knew immediately why Damien was concerned about him. Why lately the Head of the family was getting a little restless. He didn't think it would happen, but he needed to get inside now, but he feared he may already be too late. Fear wasn't exactly a emotion that he felt often. Or ever until now. Damien seemed to sense the sudden surge of urgency within Christophe and released the other man's hand. Christophe immediately yanked the door open, not bothering to close it as he ran inside. The large building was empty inside, everyone was outside, enjoying the weather, food, and festivities, oblivious to whatever had happened inside.

Christophe took the stairs two at a time, uncaring if he was being noisy, his hand already reaching for the revolver hidden just inside his vest. He couldn't let himself fall into a panic, that they'd been found out and that everything had been ruined in one fell swoop. He panted heavily as he ran down the hall decorated with paintings and other expensive things, heading towards the office where the Head of the family conducted his business. He could see light spilling into the hallway from the crack in the door, the door was never left ajar and that alone was a sign of concern.

Uncaring in his need to know what happened, Christophe kicked the door the rest of the way open and aimed his gun with deadly intent, planning on shooting the head of the family where he sat, fearing the worse. Nothing good ever lasted when it came to him and Gregory's death was always in the back of his mind. However, when his eyes adjusted to the light in the room, the sight before him was surprising.

Gambino was sitting in his chair facing the door, eyes wide in horror and his olive skin stained with slowly drying blood that had poured freely from the gaping hole in his wrinkled forehead. Death had captured his last moments, but it was difficult to believe that the man had died, even with the still bleeding gunshot wound in his head. All the problems he'd had were gone in an instant. Too easily as Christophe's fingers went numb, dropping the gun to the floor. His gaze had been so focused on Gambino's dead body, he hadn't noticed that he wasn't alone in the room.

Silhouetted by the sunlight pouring from the floor to ceiling windows, Gregory turned away from the blood flecked panes that overlooked the garden. His attention turning to Christophe. A pleasant smile formed, charming even with a few smears of blood over his face and in his blond hair. He moved with a confident grace, not a single nerve rattled as he stabbed the bloodied knife he'd been holding into the desk beside the gun Christophe guessed had been the killing shot after the man had been brutalized with a knife. Gregory was heading towards him, Christophe couldn't move, he wasn't scared... He was relieved that Gregory was alive and unharmed.

He knew Gregory had been growing more and more dissatisfied with his Uncle's demands and refusals. The last push had been one crucial refusal that tipped Gregory over the edge, Christophe just hadn't realized how far Gregory would go to get what he wanted. Green eyes tilted up as Gregory now invaded his personal space. Gloved hands raised, gently cradling Christophe's face. One thumbs stroked back and forth admiringly just below one eye, leaving a smear of blood on olive skin. Christophe was at a loss for words, which was a first for the usually brutally honest and vulgar Frenchman.

"What did you do, Gregory?" Christophe already know, but he needed to hear it from the man himself, needing to hear Gregory admit to the gruesome scene before them.

"You know why, doll." Gregory soothed, his voice quiet as if calming a frightened animal. It was almost insulting and Christophe would had brushed his hands away if he hadn't been captured in a state of shock, which was new for him. "I took out the one remaining obstacle in the way of our marriage. The perfect birthday gift to me."


	5. DAY 4: ANGER // SHOVEL & SWORD // APOCALYPSE AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ANGER** // SHOVEL & SWORD // **APOCALYPSE AU**
> 
> TITLE: Synthetic Love
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS: Swearing, smooching.
> 
>  
> 
> AGE: Young Adults. ( Early 20s )
> 
>  
> 
> NOTES: This is based in the Fallout Universe. You really don't need to know much about the games to enjoy this story since I try not to go into too much detail. Look. I can go into a lot of detail with Fallout, but I'm trying to keep it easy for everyone to enjoy.
> 
> Synths = Human-like Robots. Basically all you really need to know.

It was Gregory's first time to breath contaminated air, his first time seeing the actual sun through the haze of dust and the thin layer of contamination that still lingered on the horizon from a war long past. He spent his entire life safe underground, in the clean environment known as the Institute. He'd come from a line of scientists, dated back before the war, lucky enough to survive the nuclear fallout in the safety of their underground labs. Most weren't so lucky, though he wasn't sure who was luckier, the ones who died instantly, or the ones who managed to live and spend generations out here in the wasteland. He pulled his bandanna up from his neck and over the lower portion of his face, in an attempt to filter out at least the dust and grim.

Typically, the institute would send synths up to the surface to do research or gather data, the androids could withstand the dangerous environments of this desolate land. However, he'd volunteered this time to come topside and to do so was no small matter. It wasn't unheard of for a synth to go rouge, there was all sorts of unpredictable factors up here that could damage or corrupt their programming. Mutant creatures attacking, or even the lingering surviving humans who'd grouped up. In order to quell topsiders' rebellious nature, the Institute would use synths to infiltrate their societies, they looked human, could take the place of anyone seamlessly. And that led to paranoia among the wastelanders.

Gregory wasn't interested in that, not any more, he was interested in finding out why this one synth had stopped responding to his- no its' orders. He had to remind himself constantly that this synth was a human, he wouldn't dare let himself be deceived by his own creation. e'd been the chief of processing synths, designing them to blend in with wastelanders until the Institute noticed that his growing interest in synths had become compromised. He'd made one last synth, his masterpiece, one last big 'fuck you' before he was relocated to the research lab. When the synth went rouge a few months later, he'd been sent out to prove his worth and loyalty to the institute.

His synth had travel far to the edges of the commonwealth, formerly known as the New England states of America. What left of it anyways. Blue eyes stared at the rundown shack before him, surrounded by trees that were ragged looking, nothing like the lush trees within the Institute. Everything looked dreary and rundown. He'd known about it, but to see it with his own eyes was something else. What really drew his gaze was the man churning dirt in what he supposed was some sort of make shift garden, wielding a shovel with ease. One would pass him off as just another farmer trying to make it out here. However, Gregory knew better.

As he made his way closer, the man in the makeshift garden stopped digging, becoming aware of an intruder. Stabbing his shovel into the ground, he turned to look at his new guest. There was a brief expression of surprised recognition before it soured into a scowl, they both knew why he was here. He had to bring C9-25 back to the institute for either to be reprogrammed or destroyed, depending on how cruel the director wanted to be. Gregory could hazard a guess in which choice the man would chose, making this decision harder for Gregory, as it had been intended. Gregory stopped just outside the mangled wire fencing that was more of just a general outline of the garden than really intending to keep anything out.

"The fuck you doin' here?" The voice was harsh, just as Gregory remembered. Callous and rough, a small slight of rebelling against his own superiors.

"You already know the answer to that, Christophe." It was a solemn note, one that hurt to even broach the subject.

"Oh, so its Christophe now." The olive skin toned male wiped the sweat from his forehead, smearing dirt across it. Gregory had to appreciate how human like the synth was. The white tank top sticking to his form from the sweat, artificial sweat but so life like no one would suspect a thing. Gregory had taken care to put his heart and soul in creating him- it. Down to the smallest of scars and the crow's feet in the corner of its eyes. It was no wonder why his co-workers had grown suspicious with his obsession over this one synth.

"You've always been Christophe to me." Gregory countered, pleading almost for some sort of understanding. 

"Fuck you and your fuckin' lil' group of prissy bitches who hide away safe and sound underground like cowards." He spat onto the ground as if talking about the Institute left a bad taste in his mouth. Gregory tensed as Christophe approached, heavy boots thudding on the freshly churned, contaminated soil. He was close now, too close. He smelled of sweat and earth, of hard labor, something Gregory had never done. Something he appreciated more than he would let on. All his secret desires and cravings had been placed within this synth. So, did that make him a bad person? Christophe had been designed by him, for him. Morally, it was wrong as Christophe had no personality of his own.

"Christophe, please be reaso-" Gregory was about to try to plead his case when he was suddenly seized by the front of his shirt and dragged forward up onto his toes. Chapped, rough lips crashed against his own before he could even realize what Christophe's intentions were. Panic swelled within him and his heart raced so quickly within his chest, it made his mind far too dizzy to calculate a proper response. However Christophe was all too ready to take advantage of finally finding a way to shut Gregory up, pressing his advantage by tilting his head. Damp warmth traced over the seam of Gregory's smooth lips, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. 

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, his body no longer seemed to belong to him as Christophe's tongue suddenly invaded the once safe haven of his mouth. He was being swept up in this sudden fiery passion that he'd never experienced before. Certainly he'd kissed other girls, but nothing so wild and reckless as this, it was burning, branding him in his mind so that he'd never forget. It drove away every arguement, every mindless denial until he was left with nothing but his raw emotions. His tongue finally tried to make a press back, to fight back against Christophe conquering tongue, but this only seemed to drive Christophe further into a frenzy.

The synth, much stronger than the average human tried to drag Gregory impossibly closer, needing to feel their bodies pressed closer, to fulfill that secret desire they both had. A noise left Gregory, muffled by their kiss. The fence was digging into his stomach, broken wires digging past clothing and into soft flesh. Finally, Christophe seemed to grow aware of Gregory's pain and let go, leaving Gregory suddenly feeling vacated, Christophe taking all that passionate heat with him within an instant. Swollen lips remained parted, panting in a futile attempt to catch his breath, to remember something sane and reasonable. He was here for a reason, what was that reason again?

"I'm not goin' back, Gregory." That rough voice sounded deeper, drawing Gregory back away from his own internal musings to focus his attention back on Christophe. The synth he was supposed to be bringing back to the institute. If they knew what just happened, he would certainly be punished, perhaps even cast out into the wasteland. Gregory before had never been tempted by his emotions, raised from birth to join the ranks of the greatest minds alive. He was still human though, susceptible to desires and yearnings for things that he knew he shouldn't give in to. He'd failed in that aspect, but out of his failure he'd created Christophe.

There wasn't any other choice, if Gregory didn't bring Christophe back, the institute would just send correctional synths to forcibly destroy Christophe. If Gregory had found Christophe, so could others. There was no alternative to this situation. The Institute couldn't let their secrets, inside Intel just be out in the open, a unknown problem. Any rouge synth usually was either destroyed, had their minds wiped, or were reprogrammed again. Neither were options Gregory exactly liked. He didn't want to think about his creation being destroyed or Christophe forgetting about him. It was odd to feel so strongly about something that was considered a machine, but it hurt to think about the idea that Christophe would roam the wasteland, not knowing what he yearned for.

"You'll certainly be killed if you do not." Gregory tried his best to steady his voice, it was difficult to control his emotions when Christophe had successfully destroyed any sort of defenses he had built around himself. The Institute was a harsh place who prided itself on rational thinking, where emotions were frowned upon and seen as meant for humans with lesser intelligence. To be ruled by them so easily was viewed as shameful and yet here he was, a complete wreck in the time that he needed to have his guard strong.

"I've been thinkin' about that. Let's head west. As far as we can go, until the Institute can't find us, where no one can find us. " Christophe had a stubborn set to his jaw, his green eyes staring down Gregory as if in challenge, waiting for Gregory's protest, expecting it.

The idea of heading out into a world unknown to Gregory was daunting. He was used to a life of clean water and filtered air. Everything was clean and spotless and the only threat was maybe slipping on a freshly mopped floor. He'd seen and heard about the surface, of the mutant creatures that roamed the lands, about human raiders and giant green super mutated humans wrecking just as much havoc. This world was dangerous and Gregory wasn't certain if he would ever be ready to face it. He knew the further west from here grew into more and more desolate wastelands, of deserts and seas of radiation. No one that the Institute knew about had properly mapped out the States. 

"Christophe..." He sighed out, already feeling weary by the sheer notion of leaving the safety of the Institute. "You know as well as I that the probability of my survival out here is low to begin with. Boardroom meetings and scientific debates I can face down with ease, but here?" Gregory gestured at their surroundings, it looked like it was free of what Gregory feared, for now.

"Damn it. Have a little more fuckin' faith in yourself, Gregory. I know you, I know you better than any of those damn assholes underground." Christophe ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze lowering to Gregory's lips, as if kissing him again would solve everything. He was right though. Christophe was apart of him, all the intimate details that Gregory put his heart and soul into. He'd never thought he'd be the type to rebel until Christophe came into being, it was the first mark of Gregory's resistance. The spark of his rebellious nature that had laid dormant this whole time, now that Christophe had returns, that spark was being fanned into a flame. 

Far too long had it been suppressed, the Director had known the dangers Christophe possessed to the stable underground society. There was no room for independence and rebellion and he'd tried his best to douse the flames Gregory had created. It had been a mistake to send Gregory out, one the Director was not likely to acknowledge. Failure had never been an option, order was absolute. Just thinking about that ideologist churned within him, Gregory did like cleanliness, but he'd created a synth who liked to be dirty. He desired a contrast to excite him, to draw him in away from the boring white walls to the sweat slicked, sun-kissed skin of the man before him.

"I will go with you to the ends of the earth, Christophe, whatever it takes to stay with you."


	6. DAY 5: TIRED // BED // FAKE DATING AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **TIRED** // **BED** // **FAKE DATING AU**
> 
> TITLE: The Unclaimed
> 
> WARNINGS: Swearing, nudity, sex mention.
> 
> AGE: Adults. (Early 20s )
> 
> NOTES: This is sorta' a prequel thing for my Good Dog story. But you don't need to have read it to enjoy this little snippet thing.

Smoke lazily trailed up from the smoldering tip of a cigarette, clasped between two calloused fingers. Christophe needed a smoke as realization of where he was dawned on him, this was the one place he didn't want to wake up in. His free hand scrubbed at his face, feeling the rasp of a five o clock shadow against his palm, hinting that he needed to shave. Right now, he didn't feel like standing up off the edge of the bed he sat on, despite every instinct within him telling him that he should leave right then before he had to face the reality of what happened. He couldn't leave, he was out on a mission so there was no real possible escape.

He raised his cigarette up to his lips, taking a heavy pull from it as he looked over his shoulder, spying the reason behind his ever growing migraine. Gregory was still sound asleep, arms curled around Christophe's pillow, a good enough replacement to keep the man asleep. Christophe was not quite ready to face Gregory just yet. He needed time to think and process out how he'd came to be in Gregory's bed, stark naked and aching all over. The best thing he could do was start from the beginning and try to follow down the path of increasingly bad decisions. Doing that though, required his head to stop pounding.

He needed to get up, one problem at a time, think too much about everything would only make his headache worse. Clenching his jaws, he pushed himself up to his feet, the move alone had his entire body screaming in protest. He should have expected this much, though he thought he was used to such brutality done to his body, this was something completely different than being in a fist fight with a group of thugs. Then again Gregory was always creative when he wanted to hurt someone, mentally or physically. Though it was unusual for him to get his hands dirty, leaving most of that to Christophe. When it came to the Frenchman, it seemed Gregory couldn't keep his damn hands to himself.

Doing some sort of odd shuffling, limping walk, Christophe stubbornly made his way to the bathroom. Usually the medical bag he hauled with him every was stored here, it sat on the marble counter where he last put it. He reached for it, but his gaze caught sight of his reflection of his hand in the mirror. Slowly, his eyes traced up his arms, seeing the bruises, it looked like Gregory had managed to bind his wrists up a little too tightly with something. Figures as Gregory probably wouldn't have managed to get away with what he did so easily. More various bruises dotted his olive skin, handprints, bite marks, hickies, it was chaos. Gregory had been a absolute madman, making Christophe furrow his brows in annoyed concern.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he could see the extent of the damage. It was like Gregory had been desperate in his need to leave his mark on Christophe. Like a wild animal, making bits and pieces of last night flash across his mind, a frenzy gone too quick for Christophe to properly grasp a hold of. It made his body warm up uncomfortably, but he was too tired to really be aroused by it. He squeezed his eyes shut, giving a rub of one of his temples, hoping to ease the sharp pain in his head, making it feel like his skull was cracking open. Finally, he yanked his medical bag closer, digging through it until he found a small cylinder of pain killers. He tossed more than the recommended dose into his mouth.

Leaning down, he turned the faucet on, drinking straight from the tap, not bothering with using one of the hotel's provided cups. It would take a bit for the medicine to work, so in the mean time he turned the water off and the lights, sending the bathroom into darkness. Placing his hands on the counter, he eased some of the weight off his admittedly weakened legs. There was a pain that he wasn't personally familiar with, but he had been aware of it because he wasn't an oblivious dumbass. It was a constant reminder that Gregory had been a literal pain in his ass last night. Fitting, really.

Though why Christophe had allowed Gregory to take things that far was something he needed to investigate, so he knew what to look out for and avoid in the future. They'd been at a club last night, a stake out waiting for one of the men employed under the local drug lord, someone who could give them the information they needed to get to the boss himself. They had heard he liked to visit the club often, so they had planned to get him too drunk to resist getting taken and then interrogate him in one of the old fishing shacks in the warf. In the meantime, they had to blend in. A tourist couple, a flamboyant, fun loving guy with his more serious partner. At least Gregory hadn't asked Christophe to actually play a nice, cheery tourist.

Gregory's outgoing personality drew other club goers in, it was a crowd of drunkards and Christophe had been pressed to drink more and more to keep up the act at least. He couldn't remember if their guy had even shown up, his memory had grown fuzzy at this point. Christophe could handle a bit of alcohol, but usually just acted like he drank a lot, this had just got out of hand. Even Gregory looked like he was losing himself to alcohol. So the culprit had been drinks, no surprise there, Christophe had to be a absolute dumbass to sleep with Gregory. The last thing he needed was to be tangled in Gregory's web, to have his collar slowly tightened around his neck until it was difficult to breathe without the man.

It was no real secret to either of them that there was sexual tension between them, Gregory was a huge tease with anyone he could lure in. Christophe had always resisted, which only excited Gregory more. The thrill of the chase and all. Christophe hated to admit that he liked it, if things weren't so complicated, maybe he would've given in. This wouldn't be such a big deal, but it was. Gregory was a man of sophistication, a figurehead in society. Not to mention a playboy. Christophe was a nobody and since their childhood, their relationship had been basically Gregory the master and Christophe the attack dog. Simple as that and no need to muddy it up with complicated emotions.

That was just scratching the surface of his problems, getting intimate could never just be a physical thing between them, it was a time when they were both exposed to each other, where they could be their true selves and not what they projected to the outside world. Christophe didn't like being vulnerable to anyone, he couldn't let himself get hurt like that. He enjoyed physical pain all too much, but a pain where he couldn't see or touch was the worst. Gregory had been the only one to have dealt such damage to him. Christophe couldn't let his suppressed feelings get in the way again. It was just easier to keep himself sane if he viewed himself simply as a tool and nothing more.

Suddenly, the lights flicked on, burning Christophe's eyes before he could close them and causing a spike of jabbing pain behind them. He swore out under his breath, raising his hand to further shield his eyes from the light when his eyelids hadn't been enough. It was a mistake on his part as it left him open, allowing a arm to snake its way around his waist, feeling smooth skin brush along his own darker skin, roughed with ridges made from scars. The touch was firm, confident and the utmost possessive, drawing him back so he no longer leaned on the counter but against the front of a familiar chest. Though it was strange to feel skin on his own, he was very self-conscious about his body, allowing no one to see his torso exposed. 

This was Gregory though and while he did trust the other man, he still didn't want to be seen naked. His lip curled in a silent snarl of distaste, able to feel Gregory was just as bare as himself. A tempting bit of information, but the constant ache of his body was a reminder why falling for temptation was a bad idea, especially right now. 

"Mm, what a disappointing feel to wake up and your lover is gone from your arms." Gregory mumbled, his voice thick with sleep still, almost endearing. Almost. Gregory's face tucked itself against Christophe's neck, his lips brushing over the previous night's markings, his teeth grazing over abused flesh as if tempted to leave more marks if he weren't still waking up. A tease if Christophe ever felt one.

"Lovers would imply that I care about you, fuckin' asshole." Christophe growled out, needing something to do to divert his attention away from Gregory, least he be lured in again. Already, Gregory's hands were roaming the front of his torso, causing his scarred flesh to twitch as if trying to avoid being touched. Christophe couldn't blame his body, it had only ever felt pain and thus expected as much. Pain would be a deterrent to most and generally the same went for Christophe, but when it was coming from Gregory, there was a twisted, sickening pleasure to it. 

"That's not what you said last night, love." The endearment was meant as a jab at him as Gregory's teeth worried the lobe of one of Christophe's ear, whispering with his voice raspy from sleep. Though what Gregory had said made Christophe tense, what had he told Gregory last night? Had he made a absolute fool of himself? Thinking with his dick was one thing, thinking with his heart was a death sentence.

"I was fuckin' plastered and so were you. What happened last night was a god damn mistake." With the splitting migraine, Christophe's very little patience was running thin. He had planned on taking a shower, but with the way Gregory was acting, that was out of the question now that the Brit was in the bathroom with him. He'd just have to deal with the feel of dried sweat and the musk of sex on his body until he could get some alone time. 

"A mistake?" The was a hint of danger in Gregory's tone, Christophe had hit something sensitive. Good. The bastard deserved it. Did he honestly think Christophe would ever intentionally have sex with him? That alone was insanity, he knew Gregory was mad, but not to the level he'd believe his charm could work on Christophe. Then again, it wasn't Gregory's sickeningly false charm that kept Christophe close. There was just some unspoken bond between them, one Christophe couldn't properly describe but knew that being that closely tied with someone was dangerous and taking it lightly would be a mistake.

Christophe wasn't in the mood to explain all the reason why sex with each other was a bad idea to Gregory, the blond was smart enough to puzzle them all out on his own eventually. For now, Christophe needed space, shoving Gregory's arm away, surprised when it gave so easily. He expected more of a fight from Gregory, the Brit wasn't used to not getting what he wanted and would fight to keep what he thought was his. For now, he let Christophe go, knowing a fight between them would go fifty-fifty. Though with Christophe's body hurting, it would likely be more in Gregory's favor, whose pale skin was unblemished, much to Christophe's annoyance. He should've left marks of his own, but he wrote it off as Gregory probably not letting him at the time.

He didn't linger on the idea, because he promised himself never to leave his mark on Gregory.


	7. DAY 6: RELIEF // HOME // ANGELS & DEMONS AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RELIEF // HOME // **ANGELS & DEMONS AU**
> 
> TITLE: Never Letting Go
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS: Swearing, mild violence.
> 
>  
> 
> AGE: Middle Aged

Fighting demons was something Christophe excelled at, but really he was just making light of a bad situation. After dying at the age of nine, Christophe thought he'd be sent to hell, he'd committed enough sins in his life at such an early age, he thought there would be a nice little reserved spot for him down there. That's wasn't the case, maybe because God really wanted to punish him and what better way to do so than to make Christophe work for the very thing he hated. He certainly hadn't died in Colorado believing that two Canadian lives were important to him. He'd only went on that stupid mission because Gregory had told him to do so. Anything Gregory ordered, Christophe did, with a bit of annoyed grumbling.

Though he preferred a pompous Brit ordering him around over God almighty calling the shots, but, he'd found out quick that there was no defiance up in heaven. Or so they'd like to think, when the archangels found out how churlish and ornery Christophe was, they basically gave him a job that kept him out of heaven. Win-win all around. Sending demons back to hell was more exciting than living in some pampered place where people balked at a single swear word. He was allowed back on earth, but no one could see him and he couldn't check in on people he knew while he was alive. He hadn't seen Gregory in nearly two decades now, it was probably better that way.

He lit up a cigarette, not that it really had much effect on him, it was more of a comforting habit than anything now. He had time to kill as he loitered outside an abandoned store, the windows boarded up and looking well worn down. The slums was always a prime spot for a lower tier demon to haunt, no one would miss a few street vagrants. Higher tiered demons preferred the riches the living world could offer, humans were so easily corrupted anyways. Saving humans wasn't his job directly, so he rarely bothered, his only task was killing the demons and if that prevented the death of humans, then it was just a lucky bi-product of Christophe deed.

He had been told that there had been some disturbances around here, that was putting it lightly. Angels always liked to downplay things. Gruesomely tortured men and women killed, torn apart in a bloody mess was labeled a 'disturbance'. Most lower tiered demons weren't quiet so messy, they didn't have the resources to properly hide their victims, so most often than not, they would make their victims look like they died of natural causes. So this reeked of something different, at first glance, one would assume it was just some feral demon on the loose but Hell was usually a bit more organized than that. The more he thought about how odd this whole thing was, the more suspicious he grew. 

No trace of demon essence, no telling sign of what sort of demon they were dealing with. Just that no human could possible do something like this, there was just a general taint to all the scenes. The murders weren't found by humans, hidden away from human sight with only a hint of sulfur. It would draw angels in to investigate, maybe if it was any other angel, they might be blindsided by the elaborate trap. Christophe was aware and he would spring this trap, it was the only way to draw the demon in. He'd have to be on guard though, if this demon was seeking out angels, they would likely have a plan to fight them. Christophe wasn't taking any chances, he'd seen what demons did to angels and it wasn't something he was eager to feel himself.

He exhaled a plume of smoke into the nightly air, the streets were empty, making him feel like humans didn't even exist which really appealed to him despite being an angel. Who could really blame him? At least demons were all fairly upfront about themselves. If someone said 'demon', you knew what you were up against. Humans were different, unpredictable with the capability to either be generous or cruel. You never knew what you were going to get.

Christophe turned his head, watching a stray plastic bag drift across the empty street, rustling softly in the silence. It was the only movement he'd seen in the past hour he'd been here, a hunter had patience, Christophe just had to figure out if he was the hunter or the hunted. He knew the demon was around here, could feel that prickling awareness making the hair on the back of his neck rise in warning and aggression. It was just a matter of who would make the first move, who would be more impatient. It would be Christophe, of course, he was never one to sit around with his dick in his hands doing nothing. He wanted to get this over with.

Taking one last pull from his cigarette, he flicked it to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. At first glance, one wouldn't think Christophe was an angel, more like a homeless man than anything else. He didn't like the heavenly fashion trend, it was too uptight and far too familiar for his own sanity. Pushing himself up off the wall, he began to walk, stretching out his senses, trying to get a feel of where the demon was hiding out. He came to a stop on the cracked sidewalk, catching sight in his peripheral the yawning chasm of a alleyway. The dull light from the stained streetlamps couldn't breach the darkness here. There was just an unnatural feel to it, which meant the demon was finally making his move. 

When Christophe turned to face the darkness, the movement seemed to trigger the attack. Weight slammed into him as if he was being hit by a truck. The force behind the impact sent him crashing into the ground, leaving a trench in the concrete road. Being on his back wasn't a good position, he needed space to move and dodge. He could see the demon pulling back a gloved fist, hesitating only a moment but that was all Christophe needed. One of his dark brown, near black wings wedged between him and the demon, flinging the other being off him with a devastating force. It held enough power to send the demon crashing into the side of a abandoned apartment complex, dust obscured the demon, broken glass shattering as it landed on the sidewalk.

Christophe didn't waste time rolling into a crouch, lean muscles in his legs coiling like spring as tension built before unleashing. He lunged up towards the hole in the building, planning on being an unrelenting force against the demon. The demon was in the process of picking himself up off the floor when Christophe slammed into him, causing them both to bull-rush straight through a few walls until there was no longer a floor beneath their feet. It wasn't long before the demon recovered and counter attacked while they were falling back into the adjacent street, out of the apartment complex. Claws raked down and over Christophe's shoulders, shredding through cloth and flesh without any resistance, but Christophe only clenched his jaw and slammed his fist down on the deceptively handsome face.

Once again, they collided into the ground, it was a mess off brutality, each limb served a purpose to injure the other, nothing was held back as black and red blood was becoming disconcertingly apparent over the ground, which was being torn asunder by the two powerhouses. Feathered wings acted like shields and battering rams while leathery clawed dragon like wings were used for rending and grasping. Christophe was becoming more and more aware that this wasn't a lower tiered demon, perhaps a higher caliber than Christophe could actually handle, which in itself was alarming. However, it only seemed to spur him on to become more savage with his strikes, he had to give it his all.

One of his wings rose to bat the charging demon away, only for one of the demon's wings to latch on and shove back violently. It seemed the demon had learned a efficient way in catching an angel off-balance by using their overly large wings against them. Once more, Christophe found himself shoved back roughly against the ground, his head cracking a little painfully against the concrete. Dazed for only a second or two, but it was enough for the demon to gain the upper hand. Clawed talons on demonic wings pinned Christophe's to the ground, gloved hands clasped like iron shackles around his wrists, and the weight pressing down on him kept him in place. For now at least.

Angry, Christophe glared up at his adversary, getting a good look finally. His metaphorical breath caught in his throat in the form of a lump, despite the lack of childish softness of his features, Christophe easily recognized the man. 

"Gregory?" His voice wavered slightly, which only served to furrow his brows and a scowl to set on his harsh, bloodied features.

"Its about time you recognized me, love." Gregory practically purred as he leaned down further, closing the distance but hovering just out of reach still. Likely not trusting Christophe, which was a smart thing as Christophe wanted to lash out even harder at the other male now.

"Get the fuck off me, you fuckin' bastard." Christophe tugged at his arms, irritated that he couldn't even move them a fraction. 

"Such language for an angel." Gregory gave a scornful click of his tongue, his claws digging in further into the muscles lying beneath Christophe's feathers, making the angel wince. "All my hard work finally paid off. Selling my soul was definitely rewarded me with my prize after all these years." He finally leaned down, tracing his pointed tongue over Christophe's split lip, catching Christophe to hiss out a mild protest. He tried to turn his head away in refusal but dangerously sharp teeth caught his lower lip, threatening to shred the soft flesh if he dared to move. 

Infuriated, Christophe locked gazes with Gregory's. Faintly glowing blue eyes with cat-like pupils stared back into his heavenly illuminated ones, like emeralds reflecting pure sunlight. Both were unnatural, revealing the power that lurked just beneath skin that appeared like mortal flesh. Christophe wanted to thrash, to curse Gregory with every breath in his immortal body. Gregory had been the one to send him to his death so long ago, Gregory had been the one to curse him with the life of an angel. That begged to question as to why Gregory was a demon. 

Before Christophe had died, Gregory had always been about justice and doing what was right. If anyone was going to heaven, it would've been Gregory. 

"You look confused, 'Tophe." There was a teasing note to Gregory's voice as if aware of Christophe line of thought, which could be possible considering the strength of the demon. "I couldn't help it really, the temptation was far too great to resist. And I was promised that I could have whatever I wanted." Christophe's fingers curled, his arms straining, still trying to pull them free, but they were pinned over his head at an angle which made it difficult to get any real sort of power behind. He knew Gregory was goading him, wanting Christophe to ask questions. Gregory had always been like that, wanting to lord all the answers over those who he deemed lower than himself.

"Shut the hell up and let me the fuck go already so I can kick your fuckin' ass." Christophe bit out, trying to inspire anger within Gregory so he'd slip up and partially because it had always been Christophe's desire to see Gregory lose that tight grip on control Gregory always seemed to have. Gregory didn't seem to take the bait as he simply smiled, which would've been a charmingly handsome one if not for the elongated canines dimpling his lower lip.

"Oh, my little mole, I'm never letting you go. Never again."


	8. DAY 7: SADNESS // RAINSTORM // PROFESSION CHANGE AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SADNESS // RAINSTORM // **PROFESSION CHANGE AU**  
>  TITLE: Yellow Dahlias
> 
> WARNINGS: None. Just fluff.
> 
> AGE: Late 20s
> 
> NOTES: Later than usual posting this, decided to be lazy today. What kind of fanfiction writer would I be if I didn't write a Flowershop AU?

Every day for three years now, Christophe was always outside his flower shop at five am on the dot. From what Gregory could tell, the Frenchman kept to a schedule, while Gregory could respect that, it was almost a little concerning. It made him wonder if Christophe ever did something that strayed away from the usual daily task. Gregory was always one to be punctual, but he made time to do something fun and new every so often. When he watched his shop neighbor day to day, there was always a pattern. No one came to visit him other than customers, he never seemed to take social calls either. Gregory was lucky to even manage to snag Christophe's number and only because they needed it to look out for each other's shops in case of an emergency.

Gregory would be lying if he hadn't thought about texting Christophe just to be social, he wanted to know more about the mysterious flower shop owner who worked beside him. However, he never had the courage to make that first text, Christophe wasn't one to even hold conversations in person, would he be any different through technology? Gregory didn't want to ruin their cordial relationship by being too nosy or overbearing towards Christophe. What they had right now was decent enough, Gregory had seen Christophe with a temper and he didn't want it directed at him. He let out a sigh, the longer time went on, the more frustrated he got. He was going to drive himself mad at this rate, he should find some sort of hobby or a date to take his mind off the Frenchman.

He recalled his dinner with his friend Estella last night, they had tried dating a while back but it didn't really work out. Still though, they remained close friends and Gregory had hoped hanging out with her would take his mind off things. It hadn't and Estella had easily taken notice. She had always been perceptive about people close to her, which was why she had noticed Gregory didn't have his heart in their previous relationship and broke it off. She had tried her best to encourage Gregory to make a move, to reach out and test the waters. The idea made for a fairly sleepless night for Gregory. Usually he was good when it came to dealing with stress, it came with owning any sort of shop and his bakery was no exception from constantly stressing him out.

This morning, getting out of bed had been rough, little sleep and now facing down the day of seeing Christophe again after everything he'd talked about with Estella, he was and wasn't looking forward to the rest of the day.He'd just go through the routine again with Christophe. He'd say good morning to Christophe, who would be sweeping the sidewalk in front of their stores and then for the rest of the day Gregory would be staring out the front window, waiting for another glimpse of Christophe. Estella was right, he was just a lovesick puppy at this point. Why couldn't it have been with someone more approachable instead of someone who'd shut down any conversation before they even had a proper start.

Gregory toyed with the keys in his pants pocket, while it was summer, he still preferred to wear pants since he worked mainly indoors anyways, shorts just seemed unprofessional in this setting. Though at least he wore something different every day, not too uptight, but still looking like he cared about his appearance. Unlike Christophe, who's wardrobe seemed to consist of maybe a few shirts and a couple of pants, all in need of replacing. He was certain his neighbor wasn't poor, he'd seen customers come and go and Chris had cornered off that bit of the market by being the only flowershop in town. It fit Christophe though, he never seemed to care about appearances, certainly he was grouchy and closed off, but he did his work well.

His shop finally came into view as he rounded the block's corner, the sun was already up since it was summer, not glaringly but the sky had a soft glow to it. By now Christophe should've been out front as usual, so it was a bit of a surprise when he saw an empty sidewalk. It made him stop and look around as if Chris would be somewhere within sight, but nothing. It was concerning to see, Chris had never missed a day off work ever since they've known each other. Had something happened? As far as Gregory knew, Chris lived alone, so if something did happen, no one would know. Gregory pulled out his phone to check to see if he received any messages, but there were no notifications.

Tucking his phone away, he went up to the flower shop's door, the closed sign was still up. So Christophe hadn't come in yet, so he had to still be at home. Though it made him wonder if he was okay, if he had no one to care for him, Gregory had to step up and be that person. Before he could back down like a coward, he pulled his phone back out and pulled up the messenger. He paused though as his mind scrambled on what he should say. He didn't want to sound like a worrywart pestering the man, something casual and not too invasive. They were just acquaintances, nothing more despite Gregory's wishes. It wouldn't be too weird if he checked in though, right? 

Hey, its Gregory, you weren't outside your shop, so I'm just checking in to see if you're okay and if you need me to keep an eye on the shop for the day.

There, simple as that. Though it still made his heart hammer in his chest, nervously standing there, waiting for a reply. He should go in his own store and get things ready for the morning crowd, but his feet were stuck in place. He wouldn't be able to concentrate anyways while waiting for a reply, making him look like an absolute fool for being so hung up on one simple reply. Then, his phone chimed and a text bubble popped up, making his heart feel like it was about to leap from his chest from excitement. He always knew he'd been one for the dramatics.

_i'm not comin in today, sick._

Gregory should've expected this, the brief message, Christophe wasn't one for long winded conversations, even in text. The knowledge that Christophe was sick was worrying, Christophe usually didn't let even a cold keep him down. So being sick and not coming to work sounded like it was pretty severe despite Christophe not elaborating on how exactly he was sick, but Gregory knew enough about the stubborn Frenchman to know he wasn't the type to ask for help. He could be lying in his bed alone, too weak to get up and take care of himself. The thought alone made Gregory frown and his hand tighten on his phone. 

_I'm coming over to help you then, what's your address?_

_i'm fine_

_If you were fine, you'd be at work, now come on, tell me._

After a moment of no response, Gregory thought maybe pressing had been a bad idea and he'd chased Christophe off. Finally, a message came through, revealing where Christophe lived. It wasn't surprising that Chris lived nearby, it wouldn't be much of a walk to the small apartment complex. Though Gregory wanted to pick up a few things before heading over, so he sent a reply that he'd be there soon before tucking his phone away. Being up this early, the grocery store was fairly empty, just employees restocking the shelves. It made it easier for Gregory to pick up some typical care package things. Medicine, soup, tissues. He wasn't sure what Chris had, but he would come prepared for anything.

The apartment complex was nondescript, nice but nothing fancy, a old building that was kept lovingly so nothing was falling apart. Gregory had assumed the worse, with Christophe's lack of care, he might've lived in some sort of dump. It was a relief that he wasn't though, Gregory would've had a fit if it'd been true. Juggling the large paper bag of groceries, he pressed the button to the elevator, taking him up to the third floor where Christophe indicated he lived. While it wasn't the more sophisticated type of decor his own apartment complex had, it was more down to earth, a homey, well lived in sort of vibe.. Looking at the numbers on the doors, he made his way down the hall until he found the right one, raising a hand to press the doorbell. He hated the idea of forcing Christophe to get up and answer, but he didn't have a key.

Gregory could hear a bit of shuffling inside, waiting patiently for the door to unlock and crack open. Light from the hall spilled into the dark apartment, making Chris visible wince. He looked pale, even with his darker skin tone. The Frenchman squinted against the harsh light, letting his eyes adjust before he could properly identify that it was Gregory. The door opened wider, Christophe already shuffling back into the studio apartment to nearly collapse on the bed. It seemed he didn't even have the strength to pretend he was alright, another concerning point considering Christophe held tightly to his pride.

Gregory moved over to the little kitchen, setting the bag on the counter so he could get to work on making Chris something to eat, who knows if he ate anything last night as there was no evidence of dishes in the sink. He paused though when he took note of a vase of flowers, possible a half a dozen yellow ones. He wasn't an expert on flowers, so he wasn't certain what they meant, but they stood out in the otherwise Spartan apartment. He stared at them longer than he intended, had someone sent them to him? That'd be an odd thing to do considering Chris was a florist, so maybe Chris had brought them home for himself.

Curious, he reached out, there was a yellow ribbon tied around the vase, just beneath the lip, a decoration that held a little cardboard note. He squinted a little, having trouble reading when the only light was from the small light under the cabinets, but there was definite scribbling on there. He moved the vase a little, directing the cardboard note a little more into the light so he could read the cursive a little better.

To: Gregory  
From: Chris

"I meant to give them to you today." Christophe voice made Gregory jump a little, he hadn't even heard Christophe move. He'd been so wrapped up in his suddenly very chaotic thoughts, he hadn't been paying attention. Gregory whirled around faster than he intended so he could face Christophe, a bit of red staining his cheeks from the embarrassment of being caught snooping. 

"Beg your pardon?" Had he heard Christophe right? Christophe didn't seem to look away, his expression schooled so Gregory could get a read on him. Even while ill, Christophe appeared to remain stubbornly closed off. Though his once gruff voice sounded weaker than usual, pulling a bit at Gregory's need to care for him.

"I said they're for you. They're Dahlia's. They remind me of you." Christophe explained a little more as if he figured Gregory was simply too dense to understand flowers. Gregory looked back to the flowers, they'd been carefully arranged. It was amazing how such a rough edged person could create something so beautiful, but as long as Gregory had known Christophe, that had always been the case. "Guess the surprise is ruined. They're still yours if you want them."

"I'd love to have them." Gregory quickly stated, but he knew in his heart he wanted more than just the flowers. They were a olive branch, reaching out for Gregory to take so that he could finally get what he wanted to truly love. Christophe.


End file.
